


A Man So Tall

by ubertrash



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Established Relationship, Gender Dysphoria, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Steve is Cis, Top Steve Rogers, Trans Bucky Barnes, Trans Male Character, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-10
Updated: 2019-05-10
Packaged: 2020-01-13 12:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18468904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ubertrash/pseuds/ubertrash
Summary: "He’s kind of in the mood to get held down and fucked and have Steve call him pretty, and he doesn’t feel like that all too often. Or, he does, he just doesn't have the guts to go through with it most of the time."A little angsty and a lot horny PWP to give a little love to Trans Bucky.





	A Man So Tall

**Author's Note:**

> After browsing the Trans Steve/Bucky tags I felt like there was something for me to contribute. Just to be clear:  
> \- Bucky always identified as ftm and lived as a man, but was forcibly medically transitioned during his time with HYDRA, technically without his consent, even though it's something he ultimately wanted.  
> \- I only describe Bucky with male affirming language therefore words like breasts or clit are not used.  
> \- Likewise, there is no vaginal sex involved.  
> \- Be warned for discussions of gender dysphoria.

“You lookin’ for something?” Steve asks coyly. 

It’s not exactly a mystery when Bucky had straddled him on the couch and started kissing him silly while he was trying to watch the evening news. Right now, he’s kind of in the mood to get held down and fucked and have Steve call him pretty, and he doesn’t feel like that all too often. Or, he does, he just doesn't have the guts to go through with it most of the time. Since coming back, rediscovering Bucky's sex life has been one of the lengthier and more complex journeys, but they managed to blow the dust off and get it back into working order, even if there's a few glitches here and there.

He doesn't know what's made him so brave (or maybe just desperate) today in particular, since he's spent the day training at HQ as usual (routine looks good on him), but maybe he's just been missing Steve. When he got home, Steve had already made dinner, then he'd showered and even blow dried his hair. He's getting good at this self-care business, which brings him back to this:

“You caught me.” Bucky sighs, aloof, and sets to shutting Steve up with his mouth again. 

Steve hums against his lips. “What d'you wanna do?” 

“Thought maybe you could put it in me.”

Steve laughs, rolling his head back against the couch cushions. “Well, damn, that’s so much work.” he drolls, smoothing his hands down to squeeze Bucky’s ass. “You want it right now?”

“Yeah.” he huffs, shifting so he can grind down on Steve's lap a little better. “Did some stretching in the shower, but could probably use a little more.”

Steve groans and squeezes harder. “God, you." he breathes reverently. "Want me to blow you while I do it?” 

It’s Bucky’s turn to moan. “Sounds fantastic.” 

Steve all but lifts him off the couch, setting them both off running down the hall towards their bedroom, shucking clothes along the way. Bucky gets walked back until his knees hit the bed, and he's barely got time to think before Steve’s hands are snaking under his shirt to peel it gently off him. 

His chest is far from perfect. It was the 1940s, the surgery was experimental, and it was HYDRA, who cared less about aesthetics and more about sadistic biological torture. Like his shoulder, the scars are stretched and sprawling, bumpy and red, leaving dimpled skin in their wake, and despite the serum, sensation is patchy, ranging from lingering numbness to irritating pressure points. It all fades together, though, when Steve runs his hands over him, the skin to skin touch he'd craved for so many years overriding everything. He’s not perfect, but he feels so much closer now to how he’s meant to be, close enough that he can start to call this body home, enough to let Steve in again. And again, and again.

He unfastens Steve's belt deftly, urging the pants off his hips until he gets with the programme and steps out of them, all the while kissing Steve open-mouthed, hungry, longing to get lost in him.

The thing is, for Bucky, intimacy is walking a fine line, always risking the possibility of a rupture between past and present. For as long as he can remember, he’s felt like some kind of side-show freak, stuck in a body that didn't feel like it belonged to him. Still, he was Bucky Barnes, and he would put up a persona, overcompensate with bravado enough to knock people off the scent, a grand facade that never cracked and he and Steve were the only souls alive burdened with the truth. He'd gotten by like that since he was a teenager, but when HYDRA got him that all got stripped back, left him as a pile of meat nailed to a cold slab with no where to hide. He was as good as a lab rat to them, something to be poked and prodded and cut open and pumped full of shit and it was all part of the fun. 

They told him he should be more grateful - he was a miracle of science, their very own pioneering medical experiment! They gave him a new arm, tore out his inside parts and moulded his chest anew, messed with his hormones until nature’s course has been perverted (or fixed, if you asked him). He still doesn’t know if he felt like more of a freak before or after. Even if they couldn’t make him a man, they could make him a killer, and it turns out both jobs were half-assed (only one of which he is thankful for).

But Steve, Steve, goddamn him, he understood, because he knew what it felt like to not have your outsides match your insides. They shared the same frustration, and Bucky had felt boundless empathy for him everyday, when he saw the strong and resilient boy he loved knocked down by the slightest illness, or pushed aside by some resident bully. As for his part, Steve had never cared about what Bucky was; he never asked questions, never batted an eye, just smiled and said “ _Okay, Buck_ ”, just smiled and said “ _I love you_ ", same way Bucky would never say a bad thing about him, would never call him small or say he couldn’t do something just ‘cause he was sick all the time. To him, Steve was invincible, even when near-death brushes with sickness tried to prove him wrong, and to Steve, Bucky was a man, even when the bandages criss-crossing his chest and the gap between his thighs said otherwise.

Of course, when Steve joined the army, he'd felt an explosive Molotov cocktail of unbridled joy, panic, and envy. He lived vicariously for a while, stunned at how much bigger and brighter Steve was now that he'd shed nature's defects, but Bucky couldn't just end his protective streak on command, and infesting it all was that parasitic worm of jealousy. After all, there hadn't been any magic serum left for him. 

He'll never be able to stop comparing, even with Steve's statuesque body pressed tight and warm against his own slightly more tarnished, misshapen frame. 

"Get those pants off." Steve growls into his mouth. 

Even though they were both different now, irrevocably so, they fell back into old habits; Bucky's memories came most of the way back, and they fell in love all over again. Of course, when it came to sex, it was inevitable that they’d go through another awkward phase, because Bucky needed to relearn his body as much as Steve did. At first, he was terrified that Steve only wanted the soft, gently curved boy he'd been before, not the far more rough around the edges man he'd become; that it had all been smoke and mirrors and Steve had seen him as a woman all along, that their relationship was built on fetish alone, that Steve would leave just when Bucky had become most of the person he was meant to be. Steve had, earnestly and passionately, called him an idiot, and reminded him that he'd be the world's biggest hypocrite if he stopped loving Bucky just because of a change in looks. But even he had wanted to know if Bucky's transformation had been complete, if the Nazis had been able to make him a bona fide man.

_“Did they give you a...?” Steve had asked._

_“No. Still the same.”_

_“Oh, Buck. I’m sorry.”_

It had been the wrong thing to say, because if there’s one thing Bucky Barnes didn’t need more of, it was pity. But Steve was good, and he didn't make the same mistake again. When he saw Bucky's chest for the first time, his face had lit up and he’d said “Look at you” in a voice so filled with awe that Bucky’s yet to forget it. The thing is, Steve makes him feel that way every time, like he's something to be revered. 

They work his sweats off together and Steve drops to his knees, peppering kisses all across his belly; his abdomen wears a Glasgow smile, an ugly, stretched scar where they tore the unfitting bits out of him. Steve presses his lips to the raised tissue, gripping the backs of his thighs as he noses at the trail of dark hair that leads him down.

"Look at you." he whispers, now that he's face to face with Bucky's naked shame.

It’s still too much, sometimes, the same painful incompleteness overwhelming him. He’ll become phobic of touch, turning his back to mirrors and shutting himself away, wrapping clothes around him like a shroud. On days like that, he wishes he could take everything back, make it so Steve had never seen or touched him and never known his dirty little secret. 

_“I know there’s nothing I can say that’ll make it better.” Steve will tell him, voice soothing and kind. “I know it’s nothing to do with me, it’s just something you have to deal with.”_

_He will hold Bucky as close as he’ll allow and rub a hand over his back, won’t say anything if he cries. “But I promise that I’ve never thought of you any different, and I hope that means you can worry a little less about my part in this. I just want you to feel okay, Buck, that’s it.”_

They both know that Steve can't love the unhappiness out of him, but he sure as hell tries, and it does help. Steve makes him feel like he’s the only guy in the world, no matter what he was or wasn’t born with. 

Now, Steve presses at his hip and encourages him to lie back, leaving him kneeling between Bucky's spread legs like a devotee getting down to pray.

”C’mere.” he says, hooking his elbows under Bucky's thighs and tugging him forwards, getting comfortable, and Bucky grasps blindly for the lube that he left lying on the bed and hands it over. 

Times like this, the anticipation really suffocates him, like he's worried Steve will one day look at him and come to his senses, realising he'd be better off with a real dick to suck instead of the miniature, second-rate version he's stuck with. That day is yet to come, and when Steve leans forwards and swipes the flat of his tongue over his cock, he starts to doubt it ever will. Steve works at him like that for a bit, tongue teasing from his loosened hole back up to his cock, getting him wet with spit. 

He slicks two fingers and circles them around his rim. "Okay like this?" he asks, and Bucky hums, settling down onto his elbows.

One finger, then two, is easy, especially when he's distracted by Steve's tongue dancing over his swollen dick. Steve's the cocksucker of his dreams, with the way he lets Bucky slip so easily between his lips, his tongue playing a whole manner of dirty tricks as it flicks and prods in ways that just drive him crazy. Steve runs his other hand all over the rest of his swollen flesh, the outside parts of him that are still sensitive to the touch. 

"So good to me, Stevie." he moans. Bucky's never pushy, doesn't really know how to be, so when he reaches for Steve's head all he can do is rub his fingers over his cranium, softly encouraging.

One wrong move is all it takes to send him spiralling. It's happened before. Touch the wrong thing and it's like flipping a switch, he'll realise that all this is a masquerade and nothing - not Steve's love and devotion, not a gun in his hands or forgetting a lump sum of his tragedy - will fix the things he thinks are wrong with him. It was a cosmic mistake, a cruel joke played by an unjust God, and though he's fought to hell and back to get here, there are some things not even 21st century medicine can change. All he ever wanted was to be normal, and sometimes it still feels dauntingly unachievable.

"Oh, God." he moans, Steve’s mouth and fingers pushing away all his bad thoughts. Three fingers now, making his hips rise up, muscles working on their own, and maybe this won't fix him but it'll sure as hell make him feel better. Fuck, he’s close. He grabs Steve’s hair, making him stay just so, right there, and the pressure builds to a great crescendo. 

“Stevie, you're gonna make me - oh” he gasps, writhing, and Steve hums against him, making him gasp even more. The first waves knock the air out of him, but when they dissipate into smaller swells, leaving him maddeningly sensitive, he blindly pushes Steve’s head away. Steve breathes warmly against his thigh and obediently waits as the aftershocks fade, until Bucky tugs firmly on his hair.

“Up here.” he mumbles.

At least there’s more room for Steve between his legs, and they really do fit together so nicely, they always have. Steve never quits touching him, getting his mouth and hands over every bit of skin he can see until they're face to face again, dragging their cocks together for a brief, leisurely moment along the way. With his metal hand, he reaches to touch Steve’s hard cock, and Steve hisses, fucking up into his fist as he rolls their foreheads together. Steve's a giver, and he somehow really gets off on seeing Bucky have a good time, thankfully, especially when Bucky gets so in his head that he can't find two brain cells to rub together to give Steve at least one decent orgasm.

“You ready?” Steve asks, curling his fingers. He’s got Bucky nice and worked up, everything relaxed and slippery. 

Bucky hums and strokes Steve's cock again, making him shiver. “Are you?” he taunts. 

“Always, for you, sweetheart.” Steve says, sitting up and reaching for the lube again. "Don't keep me waitin'."

He gets on his hands and knees, easier that way, feeling terribly exposed while Steve wipes his hands, sorts out the condom and slicks up again. 

He’s sure this must have looked a lot funnier the first few times they did it, a mess of Steve’s gangling limbs and Bucky trying his best to keeps his clothes on, despite everything. Between Steve’s asthmatic lungs and his own soul-deep discomfort, it’s a miracle they made it through in one piece. 

It feels much nicer, now, when Steve’s big hands sweep up and down his back, digging in unforgivingly to all his muscle, the shape of him both old and new fitting just perfectly beneath his palms. He likes being manhandled, just enough to remind him of his body, of his mass how it exists for him, how it works hard to keep him alive. Even if he doesn’t always like the way he looks, he can at least enjoy the way he feels, so he closes his eyes and concentrates on that. 

“Okay?” Steve asks again, delivering on his promise to make sure Bucky is listened to at each and every turn in his life. It’s so sincere, he can’t help but smile. 

”Yeah, put it in me, baby.” he drawls, wiggling his hips, and Steve barks out a laugh as he positions himself.

He keeps a comforting hand on the small of Bucky's back while he eases in, the blunt press of him feeling big and daunting even though they’ve done this countless times before, so he doesn’t give too much, just works a few inches in and out so he can get comfortable. 

Bucky drops to his elbows and arches his back into it, loves the way all his muscles stretch and elongate, a full body sensation. Steve kneads at his hips, a little push-pull that Bucky starts to rock in to, and with Steve guiding him, he can let his hamster-wheel brain switch off, surrendering to the sensation and opening up for Steve easy as anything.

"Buck, Jesus Christ. You know how gorgeous you look?"

The way Steve talks about him, you'd think Bucky was a work of art, hand carved by the masters from a piece of the purest marble. He knows Steve enjoys the view, and he'll gladly lay there and soak up the flattery, but he's not exactly a fan of being stared at in all of his not so pride and glory, all too familiar with being gawked at like some kind of specimen. Steve knows that, of course, so he'll only admire Bucky for a few selfish moments.

It starts with a hand pressed between his shoulder blades, a gentle pressure bowing his chest into the bed, then Steve is leaning over him, forcing his knees to slide oh so slowly outwards until they’re both laid flat. Now that’s a position. Steve covers him like a blanket, a safety net, making him feel warm and protected and loved from all sides. It's even better when a hand comes to cradle Bucky's head, Steve's fingers carding through his hair before grabbing hold of a decent chunk. It forces a moan out of him.

The hair is a comfort blanket he’s not ready to get rid of. Sure, it can sometimes be a reminder of dark days past, but it also represents a new chapter for him, and it definitely generates a little cockiness that, thanks to his beard, he can keep the long hair and not even risk being called Miss anymore. Plus, he likes when Steve plays with it, and a little rough hair-pulling never hurt nobody.

Pressed together like this with Steve's weight on top of him, movement is just a tease, tight little thrusts that make his whole body squeeze up. He’s gonna need a little more, so he reaches for the small vibrator that's hiding under his pillow.

"Oh, we're getting serious." Steve remarks, smug, biting at his neck.

Toys are a fucking revelation, one of this centuries’ biggest upsides, if you ask him. It’s good to know that he can buy any kind of dick he wants on the internet, but Steve doesn’t like getting fucked, which is fine by him, and he doesn’t see the point of having one just laying around. They bought a few small ones, though, since it makes prepping easier and more exciting, plus even the tiniest vibrators can take things up a few gears, used inside or out.

He plants his knees a little, holding the smooth, pebble-shaped toy in his palm so he can cup it over himself, starting it on a low setting. His pleasure ratchets up immediately, leaving him gasping into the sheets, caught between the pulses of the toy and Steve moving inside him. Sometimes, the vibrations can verge on too much, too fast, but he’s been worked over so much already that the rhythmic buzzing manages to push him over pretty quickly.

"Atta boy." Steve growls, when Bucky starts making his tell-tale whimpers, then all it takes is for Steve to tug firmly on his hair, and he’s done.

"Oh, fuck." he moans emphatically. This body certainly still has it’s perks, he thinks dreamily, as his second orgasm in barely five minutes ripples through him. 

Steve makes a hungry sound and stills for a moment, hips pressed tight to his, loving the way Buck twists and gasps and shudders under and around him.

“How’s that, huh?” he breathes hotly into Bucky’s shoulder, trailing his mouth everywhere. 

Bucky just grunts, words still escaping him. He fumbles with the toy, clicking it off, and moves his hips experimentally, groaning at the stretch of Steve's cock filling him up. It’s good, but his hand’s going a little numb from being pinned underneath him. 

“Wanna keep going?” Steve asks. 

“Yeah.” he huffs, pushing up on one elbow. “Change positions first.”

Steve pulls out and he flips onto his back, getting manhandled towards the pillows where Steve rearranges his legs just the way he likes. 

"There's my handsome fella. How'd I get so lucky, huh?"

"Dumb luck." Bucky says, even though he's blushing, and tugs Steve down for a kiss. 

He likes being like this, being able to see Steve’s stupid, gorgeous face and wrap his arms around him, but he also feels horribly vulnerable with no place for him to hide his imperfections. Spread out like this, his cock juts out small and pink and proud from his pubic hair, sensitive as all fuck when Steve reaches down to touch him. His breath stutters embarrassingly and he coils up as fingers run over his folds, smearing the slick and spit and mess everywhere, dragging it up over his cock. He feels it in his gut, a hint of shame lingering at the still not quite right feeling he gets from looking at himself, but the desire takes over when Steve kisses him, pressing his knees back and open. He doesn’t dwell, just grabs a hold of Steve’s big shoulders and moans at the feel of Steve’s cock rubbing against him.

"You like it though. Want me to tell you how pretty you are?" Steve says, his voice low, dropping even lower when he pushes in. "Look real pretty like this, Buck."

They're both such suckers, but Steve knows Bucky turns on like a live wire when he dials up the sweet talk. It feels dirtier like this, too, because Steve can press in deep, hold him open while he squirms. The feeling of being pinned down is equal parts pleasure and panic, and it makes him feel wild, the tightly wound thing in his chest going loose. He would never trust anyone but Steve to do this with him, to him.

“Fuck, Stevie, ah.” 

He’s strong enough to lift up Bucky’s hips, hold him just the way he wants, and Steve knows what feels good for him so he just arches into it, grunting with every pump of his hips.

"Yeah, you're just so - perfect, aren't you? God." Steve pants, rhythm barely faltering.

When he focuses on the right things, it really gets him hot - like how he’s hairier than Steve now, his hair much darker, the way Steve holds tight on to his hips without a care in the world how wide they are, and the beautifully flat planes of his chest, no matter how mangled. He runs a hand over the scars there, the ones that light up with sensation, teasing briefly at his nipple before trailing the hand down to touch himself. The sight of his flushed cock sends a jolt of arousal through him, and if he goes lower he can brush his fingers over where they're joined together, making his blood feel thick like molasses, clouded with want.

“Yeah. Got one more for me, baby?” Steve huffs, shoving into him. “Want me to hold off? Cause I’m - ah.” he says, doubling over a little. He plants one hand by Bucky’s head, the other digging bruises into his thigh.

“No.” he breathes, grabbing the nape of Steve’s neck and pulling him down. “You can go, c’mon.” he urges, rolling his hips to prove it.

Steve moans again and goes down on his elbow, panting hotly against his collar bones while his hips stutter. The noises he makes are glorious, little gasps that staccato upwards until he collapses forwards with a deep, drawn out groan as he comes, hips grinding in. That makes Bucky groan, too, squeezing his legs around Steve’s, feeling the force of it go through him. Steve's quick to recover, but doesn't pull out straight away.

“God, Buck." he breathes, hands going everywhere. "Want me to touch you?"

He can barely gasp out yes fast enough.

Steve is good, so good, so perfect. He touches Bucky just right, light little circles with his fingers, rubbing along his length and then down over everything. Won’t stop kissing him, even though Bucky’s only gasping into his mouth at this point. It's a rare thing, but he makes Bucky feel beautiful, ten times better than just normal, he makes him feel whole, although to Steve he wasn't missing any pieces in the first place.

"C'mon, sweetheart, give it up for me."

He turns his attention down to Bucky’s neck, then his chest, not shying away from his scars, and Bucky holds his head there, a solid weight that makes him go all tender as Steve’s fingers push him further and further and further.

Like he is with everything, Steve's relentless, so he knows that when it hits it's going to be like a fucking freight train. Perhaps against better judgement, he doesn't ask Steve to let up, just rides it until it builds to breaking point and he comes, crying out for real this time with a hand fisted tight in Steve's hair.

"There you go." Steve laughs, a joyous sound, and strokes him through it, not stopping until Bucky makes a little choked noise and bats his hand away, his oversensitive nerves crying out. It lasts a long time, his hips still moving restlessly, and he somehow recovers the cognisance to find Steve’s face so he can kiss him while the shudders eventually subside, leaving them melted together in a blissed-out puddle.

Now that he’s not distracted, the dissonance starts to set in again, when he looks down and sees how different the two of them are, Steve's limp cock nestled against his thigh. He hides his face in Steve’s neck so he doesn’t have to look. 

Before, he would never have allowed Steve to touch him after. He’d cover himself back up and go back to pretending, even though he felt like some prudish cleric when Steve’s bare skin was pressed against his clothes. He'd hated it, and back then he wished they could lie together like real lovers instead of embarrassed kids. He guesses some dreams really do come true.

“Get what you wanted?” Steve asks, rolling off him and heading to the bathroom. He should probably go clean up too, but he feels contentedly messy, so it can wait, even though without Steve to cover him, he must resist the urge to curl up and retreat under the sheets, because he's got nothing to hide here, not with Steve.

“I think so.” he chimes, when Steve drops down beside him again. He gets what is essentially tackled into an embrace, bundled up in Steve’s arms, and he fits himself to Steve's side like a puzzle piece, every inch of damp skin pressed together. Maybe it's the post-three-orgasm bliss, but he doesn't feel ashamed, nor out of place, not even a little. Steve really is a miracle worker.

“I love you.” Steve mumbles against his cheek. “But I think I spoil you. Spoiled you rotten."

Bucky laughs. Steve's right, but there isn't a force in the world that could get Steve to stop loving him so ferociously, so recklessly, or to get Bucky to stop loving back. He knows because so many people have tried, and failed. 

“You wish. I barely even had to try to get you to put out." he says, winding an arm around Steve's waist. 

Steve groans, "No, it's worse than that. This whole time I've just been sitting around, waiting for you to make a move." 

"Aw, honey, you been thinkin' about me?" he teases, trying to mask his self-deprecating surprise. 

"Yeah. Just wanted to give you space." Steve mumbles, rubbing his cheek on Bucky's hair. "Been missing you."

It's not a complaint, just a reminder, and maybe he shouldn't feel vindicated by such an obvious fact, but he does, because sometimes it’s easy for him to forget. Steve likes to help him remember, though, has even made it his life's work to do so. Often, Bucky wishes he had better words to explain the clutter inside his head, a way to clearly express the depth of his gratitude, and his pain, more ways to tell Steve how much he loves him, but somehow he thinks Steve already knows, so instead he curls their legs together, holds Steve tighter, brushes his lips against his skin.

"Missed you, too."

 

**Author's Note:**

> i've never written something like this before and i can't believe i'm posting it, hopefully someone enjoys it


End file.
